


Stick Together

by grey2510



Series: The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Episode: s10e03 Soul Survivor, Episode: s11e15 Beyond the Mat, Episode: s11e18 Hell's Angel, Episode: s12e07 Rock Never Dies, Episode: s12e10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets, Episode: s12e11 Regarding Dean, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode s12e11 Regarding Dean, Post-Episode: s12e10 Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets, The Great Fic Writer Scavenger Hunt, round 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:36:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9673049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: Dean knows the only thing he's good for is making sure his family is ok and that the world keeps spinning. Doesn't matter what happens to him. He's just a human, and a pretty shitty example of one. It really shouldn't be a surprise that Cas would never sink himself so low...So why does it hurt so much?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Round 5!  
> This week's tropes:  
> \- Birds of a Feather (hence the title of this fic because I'm just so creative and clever...)  
> \- Dean blames himself for everything (so, buckle up, cupcake: it's time for ANGST)
> 
> Don't say I didn't warn you.

Shame.

It’s not a new feeling, but with the memories of all that he did with the Mark, as a demon, with _Crowley_ , to Sam, to Cas—

The shame cuts fresh, itches under his skin, pokes and prods at the Mark still blistering red on his arm.

He retreats. He doesn’t deserve to “celebrate" with Sam and Cas, not that he thinks it’s exactly party central out in the library. But how do you just get past this? Kick back with beers? Laugh about the time you tried to Jack Torrance your brother? ( _Haha, what a riot, right, Sammy? A hammer, could you believe? Just nutty!_ ) Or how your best friend or whatever the hell Cas is at this point had to physically restrain you using every ounce of mojo he’s got left? ( _Hey, Cas, does it count as always bleeding for the Winchesters if it’s Grace? Oh, ya crazy bastard!_ ) Or swap stories about what everyone did on their summer vacation? ( _Heh, yeah, so me n’ Crowley are at the bar, right? And there’s these triplets..._ and yeah, that’s definitely a story he’s not telling, even if he manages to skip the fact that Em and Stef aren’t chick names—Clay might be a little harder to pass off.)

The bed sinks under him, but he refuses to let himself get more comfortable, to enjoy being back in the Bunker, and so he stays upright against the headboard, one booted foot firmly planted on the ground. Without even thinking of it, he reaches for the pictures he keeps on the nightstand. The photographs have long lost that crisp newness, but with the exception of the one of him and Mom, they’re uncreased and clear. He pauses at one of him and Sam—and Christ, they look so young—that Bobby snapped on a rare good day back when demons were still even rarer, and not someone you palled around with for few months while sporting black eyes yourself.

Cas knocks a moment later, and Dean can’t decide if he’s relieved or not to see him.

“You look terrible.”

Blunt as always, but Dean finds it...endearing? God, he hopes Cas can’t read his mind. Besides, he doesn’t deserve Cas, doesn’t even get to _think_ about—

He pushes down the sick guilt in his throat.  

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to lie every now and again.”

Cas falters for a second. “No, it wouldn’t kill me. I just… You...”

“Forget it.” There are just some things that can’t or shouldn’t be said. Some things that Dean probably deserves to hear, bluntness and all, but just can’t right now. He swings his other leg off the bed, stands up, gives Cas a once-over. “Well, you, on the other hand, you…looking good.” _Smooth, Winchester._ “So...are you back?”

“At least temporarily. It’s a long story: Crowley, stolen Grace. There’s a female outside in the car.”

Dean’s brain tries not to short circuit, and manages to keep ticking, but it’s a near thing. _Cas’ got some random chick outside? What the hell?_ Just how much did Dean miss these past few months?

The rest of their conversation goes by like so many others: Sam’s not pissed at him even though he has every right to be, everyone thinks Dean should take a break, Cas says what happened wasn’t his fault (ha), and then, just like always, Cas leaves.

Back to that ‘female outside in the car,’ most likely.

Because who’d want to stick around for this freak show?

 

 

Later, Dean discovers that Cas’ lady friend was actually Hannah, and somehow that makes it that much worse, just confirms what he’s already suspected in those low moments when he’s even tried to give voice to the confusing swirl of emotions he has surrounding Cas, feelings that he’s always fought so hard to bury under booze and women and sarcasm. He and Cas could never be more. Cas would never sink to his level—and oh, how far Dean has sunk. Bad enough Dean’s dragged Cas down to humanity more than few times over the years— _”When Castiel first laid a hand on you, he was lost!”_ —no need to drag him down further, expect or even hope that an angel would want _him._

But Hannah? Another angel? And yeah, he’s still not quite over her making Cas choose between an army and Dean, but he also remembers Cas back when he was really still Castiel: same rigidity, same insistence that this is the right thing. No wonder Hannah seems to have picked up where Cas left off, where Cas began his fall (because that’s what he’s doing, isn’t it?). Jesus, they even both do the same confused head tilt.   

A phrase bubbles up to the surface of his mind, and he snorts in amusement despite himself. _Birds of a feather stick together…_

Guess it works for other winged wonders, too.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“If he wants to be saved.” Sam says it so casually, but the words tear at Dean.

No. He refuses to believe that.

“He does...even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

 

 

It doesn’t matter how many times Sam tries to tell Dean that Cas chose this, chose Lucifer. Was Dean—were _they_ —really such shitty friends that Cas thought throwing himself at _Satan_ was the only way to be useful or important?

If Dean had just…

But maybe that’s the point. Dean didn’t say anything. And even if he had, why would Cas care? Why would he save himself on behalf of one freaking human, when the whole world’s at stake?

He’s not worth it.

Cas made a stupid move, but at least he did something, risked it all. He’s a brave sonofabitch, Dean’ll give him that.

 

 

"‘It’? It’s not an ‘it’, Sam. It’s Cas.”

“And Cas wanted to do this.”

“Yeah, well, there’s times I want to get slapped during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask. That don’t make it a good idea.”

Sam’s lips purse. “Dean, this is exactly how we screw ourselves. W-we make the...heart choice instead of the smart choice.”

_The heart choice. Yeah, well, fuck it, Sam, it’s the only choice I know how to make. All I fuckin’ got left._

“Oh, ok. Thank you, Dr. Phil. Cas is family!”

“Yes, and his choice deserves to be respected.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. From _Sam_. He would’ve thought Sam would understand, would care about Cas. Then again, this is Stanford all over again, isn’t it? Sam always wanted to leave. Of course he’d back someone else’s play to do the same.

“Even if it kills him?”

“It’s killing me,” Crowley cuts in. “I would rather stick white-hot skewers in my eyes than listen to you two bitches bicker!...”

Dean barely listens to the rest of the demon’s complaints.

He will get Cas back. Sam’s wrong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He knows he’s being petty and childish, but he can’t help it. Things had been finally looking up: the world didn’t end, _his mom is alive_ , Cas is whole, Sam is home from that psycho bitch Toni.

And then Cas had left.

And then Mary had left.

And Cas has been road-tripping with _Crowley_ , looking for Lucifer. It doesn’t matter that Cas isn’t sneaking off about it like last time he worked with Crowley—and Dean’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel some small bit of satisfaction each time he hears just how utterly done Cas is with the demon—but the whole situation just sucks on epic proportions. And that fucking insidious voice whispering in the back of his skull that it’s not like Dean has done the exact same thing with Crowley,  _and Dean, what if Crowley tells Cas everything? Or worse, what if Crowley and Cas are—_

He bites back those thoughts, throws out some stupid jab about Cas looking like a third tier agent, earning himself a pretty impressive sarcastic retort about his lumberjack attire.

God, they’re like a bad joke: an angel, a human, and a demon walk into a bar…

Or even, a holy tax accountant and apparently a fucking lumberjack ( _seriously, Cas?_ ) walk into a bar…

Doesn’t even need a punchline.

 

 

* * *

  


The silence is bitter and Dean embraces it, shuts down his brother when he suggests music, spits out a sarcastic, “Oh, he speaks" when Cas finally answers Sam’s question. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Sam back at the Bunker he wasn’t pissed that Cas cares, but the worry that something awful is going to happen and it’s going to rain down on Cas sits like a lead weight in his stomach—when it’s not roiling and making him toss and turn at night.

He can’t lose Cas. Not again.

And that stupid bastard has made himself a fucking cosmic target, put himself right into the line of fire that Dean had been expecting to take on himself—until Mary had stepped in, and he feels so fucking guilty that someone else had been prepared to let themselves die for a decision Dean’d made, and now Cas is the one who broke the deal, and those consequences…

They should have just let Billie take Dean. They’d come to terms with his death with Amara. And he’d lived, and he was grateful, and he’s made peace with what he’d gotten: he’s gotten to know his mother for a little while. Sam is out of prison. Cas is alive and whole. Everyone would be _safe._

But now Cas—

Fuck.  

He tunes back into the conversation, just in time for this gem: “Look, Benjamin wouldn’t call for help lightly. And he wouldn’t put himself in harm’s way if he could help it.”

“Wow, this Benjamin seems like he’s pretty cool, you know,” Dean points out churlishly. “Like he wouldn’t make any half-cocked, knee-jerk choices.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean can see Sam’s bitchface glaring at him.

Sarcastiel is never one to let someone else get the last word in, though. “Yeah, you know what I like about him? Is that he’s sarcastic, but he’s thoughtful and appreciative, too.”

Dean whips his head back. “Now what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Ok, ok, the road, the road!” Sam says, and Dean corrects the car as a horn blares past them.

Great. Benjamin. Who is apparently a woman, but not a woman because he’s an angel, and who is super close with his vessel—whatever _that_ means—and who Cas thinks is the fucking bee’s knees.

The whole situation almost makes him lob out a petulant, “Yeah, well, if you like Benjamin so much, why don’t you go marry him?” But he doesn’t, because he’s not a fucking twelve year old, and because, with his luck, Cas would march off and do just that, rejoin his old garrison, be a real angel again.

Dean wonders if he’d even argue, or just say it’s as much as he deserves.

 

 

* * *

  


At least Ishim’s dead, that sick fuck. The Lily story was bad and creepy enough, but if Dean’d had to listen to Ishim call him an ape one more time or put down Cas again, he’d have punched the smarmy dick in the face. Or maybe stabbed him in the face. It’s not like Ishim would have been his first angelic face stab.

Back at the Bunker, he and Sam sit Cas down and tell him what they probably should have long before, should have all along: that Cas isn’t weak, that he’s changed for the better, that he’s important. Shit, if Dean’d told Cas this before, made sure it was fucking obvious even to an angel of the freaking Lord, then maybe Cas wouldn’t always be doing reckless shit—Lucifer, Billie… If Dean’d just paid attention more, used his fucking words like a goddamn adult, not been a piece of shit friend…

This conversation feels like too little, too late, but it’s the best they can do.

They still don’t know what to do with the uncertainty of the nephilim looming over them, and so the beer drinking is more in resignation than anything.

“Let’s drink, and hope we can find a better way,” Cas says grimly as he reaches for his drink.

Between the three of them, they put back enough beers to make the humans comfortably buzzed. Cas, of course, is sober as ever, despite drinking a case all by himself. The empties are crowding the table when Sam finally pushes back his chair and announces he’s going to bed. Dean grunts, waving his bottle slightly, letting the half of beer still left slosh against the glass. _Gonna finish this off first_ , is Dean’s silent message, which Sam accepts with a nod before his eyes flick between Dean and Cas.

_You two ok alone?_

_Yeah, we’re fine._

Sam bids them both good night, Dean and Cas echo the sentiments to Sam’s retreating back. And then it’s just the two of them. They drinking quietly for a moment or two, but for once, the silence isn’t hostile.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“What you said before—find a better way…" He lets the thought trail off, not really sure where he’s going with this, his brain a little fuzzy and his tongue thick.

But Cas seems to understand and he sets down his beer, pushes it slightly with his fingertips away from him before responding. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned since meeting you, it’s that the way Heaven thinks isn’t always right: often the ways things have been done in the past aren’t the best ways. There are others. Not everything has to be black and white, good or bad.” He leans forward, resting on his forearms, and idly picks at the label on his beer. Dean watches, fascinated and almost horrified: it’s just so... _human._ “Things were simpler when I was just a soldier for Heaven.”

“Cas—"

A corner of Cas’ mouth twitches up for a split second at Dean’s protest. “I never said ‘better’, Dean. Just simpler.” He pauses, staring at his beer for a moment before looking back up at Dean. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“This you finding a better way?” Dean deflects with a half-hearted smirk.

“Yes.” Cas’ directness hits Dean like a blow, and they just look at each other, unblinking.

Finally, Dean speaks, choking out, “Why, Cas? I mean, I get it, being a robo-angel sucked, but there’s gotta be something better than this.” _Than me._

Cas gives a wry huff of laughter, shaking his head. “None of my brethren have ever understood why I…" He looks back to Dean. “Angels and humans. Too different to get along. That’s what they always say, isn’t it? At least, that’s the best of what they say.”

“But you’re not like them, Cas,” Dean fumbles out, fairly confident the beer has taken over his mouth at this point. “Like the other angels. They’re dicks.”

“So you’ve said. I always thought that meant there was something wrong with me, but recent events…” A beat. “Ishim was right about one thing: if he had killed you…" _It would have killed me, too_ , his eyes finish for him.

Dean swallows. “Why do you think I’m so worried about you killing Billie, Cas? It ain’t the cosmic consequences for the _world_ —we’ll deal with that, like we always do. But…" _But what if I lose you?_

Cas doesn’t reply for a moment, just studies Dean’s hand wrapped around his beer. Dean feels he should be weirded out by the scrutiny, but at this point… Looking around the room at the boards where every measly scrap of information they’ve collected on Kelly Kline hangs, Cas says quietly, “Well, I guess I should make the most of my time, then.”

Right. The case. The nephilim. Because that’s what’s important.

Dean finishes the rest of his beer in one go. Whiskey might have been a better choice.

 

 

* * *

  
  


“My name is Dean Winchester,” he repeats, and from the edge of the tub, his...brother...Sam nods. “You’re my brother, Sam. And we kill monsters. My mom is Mary. And—" He stops, looks up at Sam. “I’m forgetting someone. I’m—I’m sorry, Sam.”

“It’s ok, Dean,” his brother answers, but there’s a slight waver in his voice. “Cas. I think you were going to say Castiel.”

“Right. Cas. He’s the angel. And he’s...our friend?”

“Your best friend.” Sam runs a hand over his mouth. “Mine, too. But you two have always been closer.”

“Why?” Everything that Sam has told him, his whole life story, is slipping out, but the parts he does remember leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He’s done bad things, he’s killed people, he’s been bad places— _Hell?_ —and done horrible things… He doesn’t remember the details, not all of them, but he wonders if he’s any better than the monsters Sam says they hunt.

“Why you’re closer?” Sam stares as his shoes, huffs a bitter laugh. “You’ve been through a lot together.”

“Oh. But, I meant, why would an angel want to be friends with me?”

There’s something...sad...in Sam’s eyes. Dean thinks there’s a better word for it, but he can’t—it’s just out of reach… He clenches his jaw in frustration, and instead concentrates on what Sam says, hoping maybe something will stick.

“Remember what I told you about Hell?”

Something about Hell pokes at the corner of his mind, but it’s fuzzy and dull. But, he nods at Sam because he knows he _should_ remember, and whatever happened there, it’s clear Sam doesn’t want to talk about it any more than he has to. Relief and...regret! That’s the word!...flash over Sam’s face.

“Cas is the one who saved you from Hell.”

 _I was_ _in_ _Hell?!_ “Oh…" Dean breathes out. “Why…? If I was…"

Sam’s face crumples and Dean feels bad. He’s forgotten something important again. “You went there to save me. Not because you were evil or deserved it. And then Cas saved you. You’ve saved each other a lot over the years.”

“An angel needed saving? And I did that?”

Sam smiles a little. “Yeah. You save a lot of people, Dean. And sometimes Cas needs saving, even though he’s an angel, and you always pull him back because he’s family.”

“I pull him back? He’s an angel. He should—" Dean’s not sure what an angel should do. But getting pulled back doesn’t sound good.

“Not like that. I mean, you pull him away from danger or from getting hurt. And he does the same with us, with you.”

“Because he’s family,” Dean says with more confidence in the statement than he really feels. But it seems right to say. And maybe if he believes it now, tells himself it’s true over and over, it’ll stick.

“Exactly.”

“Blue.” The word comes out of nowhere and he frowns. Sam does, too. “Something blue. Like light… shit, Sam...I don’t. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Sam doesn’t reply, and Dean takes a deep breath, braces himself with his hands on his knees. “Ok. My name is Dean Winchester. You’re Sam and you’re my brother. Mary is my mom, Casti—Cas is my…" _Best friend. Family._ He _knows_ Sam just told him, but something doesn’t fit, there’s something...more…

“He’s your best friend.”

“Yeah. Cas is my best friend.” Dean looks at Sam, and his shoulders slump. “What if…” He lets the question trail off. It’s useless. “Tell me again?”

“Sure, Dean.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

He tells Rowena he doesn’t remember anything. He wonders if she knows he’s lying. But then again, it’s a case of mutually assured destruction. If he lets slip that he heard Rowena at her most emotionally vulnerable, well…

Two can play that game now.

Some of it’s still fuzzy. But he remembers the gist of what they talked about. Rowena’s past, her rejection by the Loughlins…

...and he remembers her telling him about himself.

 _“You’re a killer.”_ But it was all for the greater good, she’d said.

 _“And that’s supposed to make it ok?”_  

_“You help those other than yourself...Hm. Surprised you didn’t just call your pet angel in to fix this.”_

Wait, no. That last part happened earlier. Before he’d started touching all her stuff and she’d finally plunked him down with a voodoo doll to keep him occupied like a little kid.

No wonder Crowley ended up the way he is.

_“Pet angel?”_

_“Oh, have you forgotten him, too? Your dear Castiel?”_

_“Castiel. That’s a weird name. Cas?”_

_“Aye, that’s what you call him. The angel so in love with...ugh, humanity...that he nearly destroyed the world to save you.”_

_“To save_ _me_ _? Why?”_

_“You’d do the same for him, dear.”_

_“Oh. I would? I should...I should remember him. Do I love him?”_

_“Sad thing is I can’t tell if you have to ask because of the spell or if you really don’t know. It’s not even fun anymore.”_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?”_

_“Oh, you Winchesters. Never could see a damn what’s in front of you.”_

_“Who’re the Winchesters?”_

_“Forgotten again, have we, Dean?”_

_“Who, me?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“Stop touching everything.”_

_"Sorry."_

He’d thought driving Baby again would ground him, and it does for the most part, even though he catches himself hesitating, double checking the highway exits as though this isn’t a stretch of road he’s traveled over countless times. But Baby is familiar, and the purr of her engine is comforting, and he relishes the feeling of control. He’s the one in charge, he decides what happens next, he is moving forward, not regressing back to nothing.

But there’s still something...off. Like there’s something he’s forgetting to do and it terrifies him that maybe he _isn’t_ 100% yet, that there’s going to be things that he’s lost forever.

“You ok?” Sam asks as they pull off the next exit and into a gas station.

“Yeah, just..." Baby’s got a full tank, so it’s not like he can even offer that as an excuse. “I’m hungry.” He’s not. “Grab us some road food?”

Sam studies him for a moment, then nods, and gets out of the car once Dean parks in a space off to the side of the pumps. Dean leans forward, lets his head rest against the steering wheel, his eyes clenched almost as hard as his jaw. He takes a steadying breath. He can do this.

Sitting up, he reaches into the glove compartment, digs out an old burner phone—one of the ones they keep charged up and handy just in case. The one he grabs is actually one of Sam’s old ones, but it doesn’t really matter. The number he needs is in there, and even if it weren’t, he knows it by heart. Claire had once given him shit, called him an old man, for still memorizing phone numbers like _everyone_ did before cell phones. Until he’d asked her how screwed she’d be if her phone broke on a hunt and she needed to call Jody or him or Sam or Cas for help. That’d sobered her right up.

He gets out of the car, taking small comfort in the familiar _thunk_ of Baby’s door closing again. With another deep breath, he punches in the number, somewhat gratified when the name pops up after a few digits.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he mutters. From where he stands, he can see Sam just walking up to the counter, and so he knows he only has a few moments.

The phone clicks on the other end. “Sam? Is everything ok?”

“Nah, it’s me, Cas.”

There’s a sigh of relief on the other end. “Oh, hello, Dean.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [ThayerKerbasy](http://thayerkerbasy.tumblr.com/) for letting me borrow their triplets for a hot second. If you want more on the Summer of Love, check out their series, [The Misadventures of Growley and Squirrel](http://archiveofourown.org/series/543232). Or, if Juliet the Hellhound is more your speed (and if it isn't, it really should be because Juliet is an absolute delight), check out their other series, [A Man and His Dog](http://archiveofourown.org/series/576391).
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!
> 
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


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